


a paler shade of white

by havisham



Category: Withnail & I (1986)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: The thing about Withnail, however, was that he was always more bearable in abstraction and in memories than he was in real, obnoxious life.(But he wasn't a ghost. Marwood was almost positive about this. Almost.)
Relationships: Peter Marwood/Withnail
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	a paler shade of white

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renaissance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/gifts).



Marwood was a rising star in the theater world and if he had been five inches taller, his success would have been all but guaranteed. Nonetheless, he was doing quite well. True, his new flatmates had entered into a conspiracy to evict him on the ridiculous grounds that he was incapable of living with other human beings — this may have been true — but he could withstand it.

That was how things stood when one day, he arrived at rehearsals and learned that Julian Standish, who was just a step up from an extra, had become ill the day before and had to be replaced.

And who should replace him but Withnail? 

Honestly, it was shocking. Marwood had mostly resigned himself to Withnail’s fate. To see him up and about and actually booking work — what in the world had gone wrong? Or actually — gone _right_ , with Withnail? 

Whatever had happened, here was the tenacious bastard, striding onto the stage like a demon possessed and came right up to Marwood and poked him with a bony finger to the chest. 

“You!” he said. 

“Me,” said Marwood, said as mild as a glass of milk. 

“You haven’t reached out to me since you left me. No calls, no letters, not even wishing me an annual fuck you on my birthday. I’m sure you thought I was dead, didn’t you!” 

“Of course I did, Withnail. By rights you should be. Besides, you haven’t had a working telephone since ‘67.” 

“I suppose your fingers were broken,” Withnail said acidly. 

“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me, as I’m doing so well,” Marwood said. He was being honest and Withnail took a deep breath, ready to spew venom. 

”Fuck off,” he said, “you’re not doing that well. You’re not even the lead.”

“I’m the second lead,” Marwood said. Probably. This play had deuteragonists. Or was it Deuteronomy? Whatever, it didn't matter.

Withnail sniffed, offended. “Pathetic. Well, even if I was dead, you’d never go to my funeral. I wouldn’t let you.” 

“It wouldn’t be up to you, you’d be dead,” Marwood replied heatedly. 

“What the devil are you two talking about?” asked the bewildered director. “We’re supposed to start in five minutes.”

“I don’t know,” Marwood said sullenly. He didn’t know why he had to be confronted with two aggravating situations in one day. He wasn’t a bad person, he didn’t think. Perhaps he was selfish and it was true he had never cleaned anything in his life, but he wasn’t a bad person or a bad friend. He was just trying desperately not to be pulled back into chaos once again. Not when he had worked so hard to pull himself free. 

He looked back at Withnail. It was good that Withnail was well enough to get a job. “I’m glad you’ve been hired, Withnail,” Marwood said at last. 

“Lying cunt,” Withnail said dismissively. Marwood grinned. 

It was as if they had never parted. 

*

When Marwood came back home, he found all of his things packed and put out in the hall. Nothing would convince either Todd or Michael to let him back inside the flat again, not his pleadings or his threats. Finally, Marwood took his things and checked into a hotel. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was pulled back into the past. He dreamed about Withnail, as a ghost and as a terror, and his dearest friend. 

*

The thing about Withnail, however, was that he was always more bearable in abstraction and in memories than he was in real, obnoxious life. His part in the play was miniscule, but he seemed to take up all of Marwood’s time, backstage. They argued constantly. Marwood wasn’t even sure why Withnail was so infuriated with him — when they had parted, Withnail had been entirely resigned to it. 

If he meant to show all the ways Marwood was a selfish prick, then what of it? They were both selfish pricks. That had been the basis of their friendship, coupled with their conviction that they were superior to everyone else at drama school. 

Tensions carried through the wrap party and to the pub afterwards. Marwood was triumphant — his fingers stained with newsprint, he read aloud the part of the review that praised him excessively. Someone threw their beer at him, but he ducked right on time. 

People begin to leave after that and in the end, Marwood was left with Withnail. As expected. “Come on then,” Marwood said, with a weary gesture. “I’ve got more vodka in my hotel room. Where are you staying?” 

Withnail shrugged, his shoulders perilously thin under his greatcoat. “I’ve ways and means.” 

Marwood was drunk enough to be magnanimous. “Of course you do. You’re not a ghost, are you?” 

Withnail rolled his eyes — his over-large, faintly bulging eyes that Marwood had always thought could see through anything. “Stop doubting my continued existence.” 

“Thou’st come to me in such a questionable shape that I will speak to thee,” Marwood said, though Withnail expressed the opinion that his delivery and choice of quotes was fucking terrible, as expected. It was then that they were removed from the pub, which had closed almost half an hour before. 

*

Marwood did not remember who kissed who first. It was funny that they’d never done that before — everyone assumed that they were lovers, but that was never truly what they were. He didn’t know what they were. He was sure Withnail had no idea either. When Marwood woke up in the morning — with a head pounding with a hangover of proportions he hadn’t suffered since he’d moved out of Withnail’s flat — he saw that Withnail was curled up on the edge of the bed. No ghost was he, nor a delusion. 

It was odd how relieved Marwood felt, even when Withnail awoke shortly and began immediately to try to exploit him somehow. That was Withnail. Perhaps he was constitutionally unable to change. But Marwood could. This time, he thought, perhaps he could change without leaving Withnail wholly behind. 

(He regretted this decision as soon as he received the hotel bill.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, Sath!
> 
> I knew I had to write the first sentence of this and the rest just followed. Apologies to Paul McGann, who is perfect.


End file.
